To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. - Ecc. 3

El Yunque, Puerto Rico

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

when not to play with fire

I'm listening to the silence between your words
And
it speaks to me in volumes
The meaning of your carefully crafted sentences is shattered by unforgiving white space
bursting to the point of breaking with aged emotion.
Like a mountain climber
your tongue
searches for steady footholds
Preferring the fine dust of sturdy weather-beaten rock to the texture of the skin on the back of my neck
See, I have a hard time keeping my heart off my sleeve
But your intentional avoidance exposes me
to the possibility of turning my heart into that dusty rockface
And I'd rather hide it than let it play
in the white canyons between your words
Exposed to the elements of raw emotion
Yours is a silence that hums and I will not harmonize
No matter how much I love to sing.
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